Listening Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Listen, he said,
(Matter of fact, like discussing a shopping list)
I'm wondering which is the best way
To kill myself. Pills, d'you think? And get pissed?
I've heard injecting air into a vein
Is quickest. Hanging can be fudged
Slit wrists are messy, not to mention the pain

Shut up, I replied
Those who speak about suicide
Aren't the ones who do it
I know. I was there once
And I got through it

Listen, he said, almost brightly
They've upped my prescription
So many friends have gone
But not you, I exclaimed with conviction

No answer, no answer. Phone ringing
No speaking. No speaking
I am opening the door
He is curled like a foetus, my darling
The silence is chilling
Far too late, too late, too late
At last, I am listening